


Be Quiet, You're in a Goddamn Library

by EVVS



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: College student Tony, I'm just as surprised as you are, Librarian AU, M/M, Mild Language, Pizza Dog is in here kinda, Yes Clint is also a librarian, librarian Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6199834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EVVS/pseuds/EVVS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can deal with anyone in his library: little old ladies in their knitting circles, raging groups of Girl Scouts, half-dead college students. Steve Rogers is in no way prepared to deal with Tony Stark.</p><p>(for torii-storii bc she is Stony trash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Scruffy Guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [incurableinsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incurableinsanity/gifts).



> This is an incredibly late Valentine's Day gift to my incredibly wonderful girlfriend Torii ♥
> 
> I'm attempting Stony for probably the first time here, it's gonna be a trip, so sorry if it's a little off?

“Yeah, well fuck you too,” says Clint, and he somehow manages to not raise his voice too loudly even though he does slam down the phone awfully hard.

“He started it?” asks Steve lowly with a raised brow in Clint’s direction.

“Of course he started it,” breathes Clint before using his mouse to nudge his computer back to life to make a note on the system. “I’m not a moron, I don’t immediately disrespect people.” And his eyes seem to drift past Steve and his voice raises just enough as he adds, “Unlike some people!”

“Shut up, you lousy fuck, you’re in a library,” comes Bucky’s gruff voice from Steve’s right, which suddenly explains one of the few reasons Clint would get as loud as he would considering they were supposed to be the damn gatekeepers of the noise level around here. He drops a pizza box on the counter. “Also, here’s dinner, asshole.”

“Language,” Steve reminds gently as he watches a couple of small bodies bolt through the front doors of the library and head towards the stacks of children’s books. “There are kids around.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and cracks open the pizza box. “Today’s ruined order: green peppers got mixed with the anchovies and a single pepperoni accidentally ended up on top.” He shakes his head and shuts the box again to keep it warm. “Rumlow is the worst set of hands over there.”

“You’re probably the worst set of one hand,” remarks Clint as he continues to smugly type.

Subtly, Bucky flips him the bird.

Clint scoffs after a quick glance at him. “You can’t even throw a pizza.”

“No, but I’m great on the phone compared to you.” When Clint scoffs at Bucky, Bucky continues, “Oh yeah, I heard you on the phone. You ain’t exactly eloquent, Barton.”

Steve groans. He doesn’t get paid enough to deal with these two. “Thanks for lunch, Buck,” he says softly and takes the pizza behind the desk, knowing full-well they definitely aren’t supposed to have lunch at the front counter; greasy hands and books aren’t exactly a great combination. “You gonna need a ride home tonight?”

“Nah, I picked up the backend of Pierce’s shift so I’m workin’ late.” He rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll just bus it.”

“I can give you a ride,” suggests Clint, abusing the power of his spinning chair so that Steve feels Clint kick him so he’ll stop spinning because it’s a normal occurrence at this point, Steve’s actually used to being kicked. “I don’t mind.”

There’s only a second of hesitation before Bucky says, “Nah, I got a bus pass, might as well use it.”

“Suit yourself.” Again, Steve is kicked as Clint spins himself back to face his desk to grab the library phone to go about making another call about late fees. Surprisingly enough, he may be the only one with the civility to not totally pick a fight with people over the phone.

Steve watches Bucky shake his head and roll his eyes in his usual fashion. Really, he has no idea how those two get along as well as they do. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Stevie,” he says as he raps his knuckles on the desk twice before backing away. “An’ make sure you leave some pizza for Wilson.”

“Will do,” sighs Steve as he goes back to sitting in his chair, watching Bucky leave. Behind him, he can hear Clint’s calm telephone voice in its usual mantra: “Hi, this is Clint from the Bed-Stuy Public Library…”

But that’s normal and fades to background noise while Steve goes back to pulling books from the drop-off box and sorting them onto his cart, knowing which one will come after which because he knows these shelves the same way he knows his mother’s smile. Putting the last one onto his cart, he listens to Clint patiently say, “Yes, I believe that you returned the book, but we don’t have it, so you have to pay the fine…”

His voice drifts as Steve makes his way out from behind the desk, pushing his cart along. Soon enough, he’ll get back to the pizza. But he has to put away the books before he can get his hands greasy. Clint’ll have to manage the desk in the meantime.

The stacks are quiet except for the constant gentle murmur of people congregating to work on group projects. There are always groups here: some from the local colleges, some from the local high schools, some for therapy sessions, some for craft circles. It’s incredible to see the sheer diversity of people that come through the doors on a regular day.

Then again, maybe that’s just New York.

The cart’s wheels click and squeal as they rolls along the dirty carpet. Luckily, none of the wheels hitch; when they do that, usually at least five books fall off. It’s painful to watch them fall and to see pages crinkle, especially when Steve tries to smooth them out and put them back like nothing happened, but he knows. He always knows.

The first couples of stacks go by quickly, everything falling in place, and Steve’s satisfied that he doesn’t have to do a book shuffle of moving different titles around different shelves so that they all stay in order. The better fact of that means that lots of books have been checked out recently. Nothing is better than a good book.

He gets to the fourth row, back in the nonfiction section, by that one stack where someone dumped what looked like an entire pot worth of coffee on the ground a few weeks back, the kind of spill that was like a hit-and-run because neither Clint nor Steve could figure out who’d done it or where the coffee pot criminal went. It’s here in this stack that Steve finds a guy sprawled out with five different books around him, intermittently flipping pages and scrawling in a mangled notebook that’s settled on his knee. He looks scraggly and revved up at the same time, a bit like a mad man minus the crazy hair and minus the elaborate lab. And probably smaller.

Steve tries very hard not to look at him because he tries not to bother the patrons, but this guy is taking up half the aisle and there’s no way Steve is getting the cart past him, and he doesn’t want to have to go back, it’ll ruin his carefully charted route around the stacks to put the books back where they belong. It’s the same route he goes every time he has to reshelve, and it’s a routine he doesn’t want to break. His fingers twitch on the cart’s handle at the thought.

This guy looks up as Steve’s cart rolls closer with its noisy wheels, and he watches the cart before looking up to Steve, and Steve’s trying really hard not to be awkward as he starts to ask, “Hey, could you just-“

But at the same time, the other guy is saying, “Let me move all this outta-“

There’s a half second pause, and there’s an awkward laugh from the guy on the floor as he tucks his knees to his chest so that his notebook’s pages crumple; Steve cringes at the sound. Proceeding to pull his books in closer and stack them out of the way, the guy smiles sheepishly up at Steve and scratches his beard. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes with a laugh.

There’s a pause, and Steve shakes his head before saying, “You know you can check those out, right?”

“Yeah,” breathes the guy on the ground as he watches Steve’s cart roll on past, eyes analyzing the wheels. “I just thought I could find the stuff I wanted fast enough…” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize it’d turn into this big of a mess.”

Steve blinks at the guy and keeps going with his cart. “Good luck with your… whatever it is,” he says, shaking his head as he heads down to the far end of the aisle.

“Research,” mumbles the guy as his notebook crumples again, and Steve can hear the sound of more books being shuffled around as he stops his cart a little ways away. “Lots and lots of research.”

Steve tiptoes up to reach the top shelf and tucks a book back in its spot, snug between two more books on astrophysics by the same author. He hardly ever sees anyone back here, but he doesn’t want to ask—the guy seems too busy. So Steve slips a second book onto the next rack over and onto an eye-level shelf before carrying on, his cart rolling along with its hitching and squeaking wheels.

* * *

Half a pizza in his stomach and just a half hour of basic shit left to do, Steve circles through the stacks in a way where he feels like he should be yelling “Bring out your dead!” to the townspeople. It’s basically a somber march through an empty library with the occasional nudge to the college student who’s so engrossed in studying that they don’t realize that it is well past closing time.

He’s making his way through the stacks and pauses at the start of new shelves: that guy is still sitting there. But instead of being sprawled out and scrawling, he’s slumped over like a corpse, neck hanging at an odd angle, loose hand holding a precariously dangling pencil.

For a second, Steve’s heart slams to a stop because he’s pretty sure this guy is dead. So if this is the start of an episode of CSI, he’s pretty sure it’d be dull: librarian finds a dead body, where would the story even go from there?

Still, he’s got to do his job and get everyone out of the library, even if they leave in body bags. Steve heads down the stacks with a sigh and really hopes that there aren’t red and blue lights flashing outside the window in a couple minutes.

He crouches next to the guy and, luckily, determines that he is, in fact, sleeping and not dead. That’s a relief. So Steve reaches out and touches the guy’s shoulder lightly. “Hey,” Steve murmurs, hoping to gently wake up Captain Scraggly here. “Wake up.”

There’s a stark difference between the man slowly rousing from slumber compared to the man who was the human embodiment of a studious squirrel earlier. This new guy is groggy and slow and seems almost drunk. “Whaaa?” he asks, looking up to Steve with a bleary, blinking look.

“The library’s closed.” He keeps his voice low and gentle, aware that this guy clearly isn’t the kind to wake up quickly. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Those dark eyes squeeze shut real tight before reopening, and the guy goes, “Yeah, okay, okay, one sec.” And he begins to pile up his books and rise to his feet. After a quick stretch, he shoves all the books onto one shelf, which makes Steve cringe as he stands up because they’re not in order, no one ever puts them back in order—

“Sorry for being in the way. Twice, now.” He laughs half-heartedly before heading down the aisle. “I’ll escort myself out if that’s cool?”

“Get home safely,” encourages Steve as he begins to put the books back on their proper shelves, hardly looking at the guy except to watch him ruffle his hair as he walks away towards the front door where he’s silhouetted in the only lights that are still left on.

It’s almost poetic. But Steve’s feathers are still ruffled because _he didn’t put the books back right_.

* * *

Clint has the front desk covered—it’s his favorite spot in the whole library because it has the best sightlines of all the college students as they milled around and caused general chaos; he enjoys the show, really.

Except the whole library has been dead today. Like a graveyard, really. Steve opts to take advantage of the quiet and of the fact that Clint’s got eyes on everything from the front desk. He slips his headphones on while he meanders around the library to put back the book returns from the night before. For whatever reason, people think that the middle of the night was the best time to return books. Steve, being the one to show up bright and sunshiny early each day, is the first to always find the bin chock full of returns, fuller than the one at their desk would get on any of their busy days. Apparently, more people return books at the ungodly hours of the night than they do during the basic library operating hours.

So, with his cart stacked with the books that Clint had sorted earlier while on the phone with yet another numbskull who didn’t think that late return fees were a thing anymore when they very much so _were_ , he heads into the stacks. But the benefit of Clint having already organized them is that he can move through the aisles with ease and reshelve the books quickly enough so that maybe, just maybe, no one would notice that he has his headphones in? He’s going fast, almost has a third of his cart finished, and the library is quiet anyways. Where’s the harm?

Then again.

Maybe no one would notice if he just started to bob his head a little bit. Then maybe he sways his hips side to side while squatting down to slip a book on a lower shelf. After a couple minutes, he’s tapping his feet, but he justifies it by standing on his tiptoes to reach the tiptop of a different shelf. Clapping at drumbeats, that’s entirely inadvertent, unplanned, but he has absolutely lost all sense of the outside silence when contrasted with the noise that booms in his ears at levels that would be unhealthy for most but aren’t that bad for a guy who’s a little deaf in one ear.

But now, as he shoves the cart down further down the aisle to give himself more space for a quick, tight spin move, he notices: “Oh shit.”

That guy. That stupid guy with his stupid facial hair and his stupid textbooks and his stupid pencil shoved behind his stupid ear.

Steve tugs out his headphones (a bit painfully) and tucks them away into his jacket pocket; one earbud still hangs out of the pocket, but he ignores it and gives a polite “Uh…” to the library patron.

“You were clapping, dude.”

Immediately, Steve wishes his jacket were big enough to bury his face in because his cheeks are burning red right now. “Oh god, please don’t tell anyone.”

Clint would tease him for two months straight. Mercilessly. And Sam would have a field day with dancing in front of the kids to taunt the hell out of Steve.

Fuck this entire situation.

The guy just licks his lips and grins in a way that’s not quite malicious but is definitely something beyond amused. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he laughs lowly, not looking at Steve anymore; instead, he’s watching the ground between them like he’s trying to hide his smile.

Steve groans and is plenty annoyed with himself. He tucks the second earbud into his pocket and pushes his cart down the aisle past this guy, who presses himself up against the shelf.

“You got moves like Jagger,” comments the guy with a half-laugh after Steve’s slid on past him down the aisle.

Blushing fiercely red all the way up to his ears, Steve doesn’t look back. Instead, he walks faster.

* * *

 “Can you two convince Barnes to bring back a pizza for dinner?” Tasha asks over the phone while guns go off in the background of the call.

Steve winces as each one fires, really wishing she wouldn’t call him from work. “Yeah, I’ll ask. He’s getting out at the same time as us tonight, so he should have a couple ruined ones for us.”

More gunshots. “Hopefully there’s something normal for once. Like pepperoni.”

“Don’t you wish.”

“I just said ‘hopefully’, it’s the same damn thing, Steve.”

He rolls his eyes. “Natasha, don’t be a dick.”

“I won’t,” she says slowly and deliberately, “because that’s Clint’s job.”

“Fair enough.” And he looks up from scanning books because there’s a shadow across his desk, but he’s greeted with the sight of the scruffy guy standing there, looking as perky as a goddamn sunflower. “Tasha, I gotta go.”

“Behave, you book nerd.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tell Clint to shove a dildo up his ass.”

Steve hangs up quickly after that, really hoping this guy didn’t hear her say that.

The scruffy guy’s wearing a smirk as he now realizes he’s got Steve’s full attention, and he leans forward with his elbows on the counter and his hands laced together. “I need some help.”

“That’s what the front desk is for,” Steve says brightly, knocking on the desk twice and firing his usual charming smile to the patron before leaning in a little bit. “What can I do for you today?”

He pauses with a smile before saying, “There’s a textbook I’m looking for—“

Steve hovers his fingers over the keyboard, waiting for a title.

“—and it’s got a bike on the cover, it’s about nuclear physics. Textbooks are lame like that.” He laughs, and it’s some cross between a snort and a sigh. “But I think it’s a girl riding the bike and there are some other numbers on the cover—“

Steve’s about to choke out of sheer horror. “Do- Do you know what the title is?” he asks hopefully, his fingers still barely over the keyboard like they’re hanging in the balance.

“No idea.” Now his laugh is full-blown, and maybe he’s realizing how dumb this request sounds, or at least Steve really hopes he realizes how fucking dumb he sounds right here. “But it should be something about nuclear physics.”

That doesn’t solve anything though, Steve knows. He lets the pads of his fingers rest on the home keys of the keyboard, and he has to steel himself with a deep breath. “Sir, I can’t help you if you don’t have a book title.”

Something between a groan and a whine comes from the scruffy guy’s mouth. “But I _need_ it.” He sounds like a pouting five-year-old but with a twinge of that familiar college kid desperation. “I have to make sure I get the reference right for my professor, he wants to double check my work because he doesn’t believe that—“

This is not Steve’s job. But at the same time, it is Steve’s job. “Alright, alright, it should be somewhere in the physics section because I don’t think we have a specific nuclear physics section, but I can help you look.”

His eyes, those nice brown eyes, light up like starbursts. “That would be _fantastic_.”

The only reason Steve can pull this off is because he knows Bucky is going to be on his break and walking through those doors any second— and there he is, right on time, pushing the front door open with his back while his one arm braces two pizzas. He even holds the door open with his back for a little old lady, who thanks him softly and passes through to the outside. And then, in a few long strides, Bucky is standing at the front desk and saying, “Hey, you dirty fucks.”

“I need you to help Clint watch the desk,” says Steve nicely as he sees Clint come back from making sure the kids didn’t tie Sam up over in the kiddie area. “I gotta help this guy out. And since you’re on break—“

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” agrees Bucky wholeheartedly without a moment of hesitation. He plops down into the third chair they keep at the front desk and rolls over towards where Clint usually sits, still holding the pizzas. “But I’m gettin’ a couple of your slices.”

“That’s fine,” says Steve as he watches Clint crash into his own chair beside Bucky, the two of them like two peas in a pod. “Just leave a couple for me, at least.”

“Fine,” he groans dramatically while handing one box to Clint, which he’ll probably finish on his own and leave nothing for Sam because Riley packs Sam’s lunches most days, which is cute as hell because they’ve been together for five years and are finally getting married in a few months—

“So you get this guy and I get Barnes?” asks Clint with a cocked brow. At Steve’s nodded response, a grin grows on his face as he looks to Bucky. “Nice.”

“Just hold down the fort,” sighs Steve before heading off into the stacks with the scruffy guy following at his heels like a lost dog.

* * *

“Is this it?” asks Steve, holding out yet another book for this guy— whose name is Tony, apparently —to look at from halfway down the aisle.

From that distance, he squints and muses for a moment, actually stroking his beard scruff like some kind of ancient philosopher even though he’s just a quirky college guy with messy habits and probably an even messier head. “Nah, not that one,” he says like he’s just decreed that the earth revolves around the sun.

With a sigh, Steve sticks the book right back where he pulled it out of and keeps going, looking for this elusive textbook.

“Y’kno, you don’t have to help me, I can figure it out on my own.” He keeps pulling books off the shelf and pushing them carefully back into their slot after a quick peak at the cover.

“This is my job,” Steve reminds while also rifling through the books. He pulls out one with a blue spine, but the cover is red, so he slides it back in and moves on. “I help people.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been at this for twenty minutes and I’m sure your friend has to get back to wherever he works and-“

Steve interrupts him without hesitation, saying, “It’s not a problem, honestly. It’s good to get out from behind the desk and talk to people that aren’t my coworkers. Besides, that guy hates his job, so he’s thrilled to be here, honestly.”

At the other end of the aisle, Steve can see Tony raising an eyebrow and pausing. “I don’t know a single person who would ever be thrilled to be in a library.”

“Then you don’t know the right people,” says Steve coolly, trying not to get frustrated with Tony because he’s the STEM studies kind of guy, the guy who should have slicked back hair and a leather jacket and should be rubbing his superior intellect in everyone else’s faces. Steve can’t get all that frustrated because, despite how much he does fit into a certain stereotype that Steve’s familiar with, he’s not that kind of guy. He’s softer spoken and has respect for other human beings. He seems confused by concepts that aren’t within his basic reach, but he shows signs of curiosity that aren’t an outright rejection.

All in all, Steve doesn’t mind him. He’s annoyed because this dude doesn’t know basic library etiquette, but aside from that, he’s not terrible.

The ancient intercom crackles to life after a few seconds of static. “Steve Rogers, please report to the front desk,” comes Clint’s voice like something out of an old movie. “Steve Rogers, please report to the front desk.” The repetition is something that sounds so sickeningly middle school that Steve actually rolls his eyes.

“Is that you?” asks Tony with a raised brow.

“Yeah,” groans Steve, figuring that Clint is trying to egg him on somehow; to what end is still unclear. He slides the last book onto the shelf, takes note of where he is on the shelf so he can come back to this spot, and starts to head towards the front desk where he abandoned Barton and Barnes. “He probably needs something. Maybe Bucky fucked up a computer or something.”

“Such a dirty mouth for a librarian,” comments Tony with a laugh and a quick jog to catch up to Steve.

Steve shakes his head and says, “The guys I work with are worse.”

A couple minutes of maze-like shelves later, they’re in the library lobby and heading towards the front where both Clint and Bucky have their feet up on the desk. Clint’s wearing a smug smirk while Bucky is taking a too big bite of pizza.

“Found your book,” says Clint, holding up a book. Its blue, has an actual title, and there’s a girl riding a bike on the front. “Apparently, you put it in the drop box after you finished with it yesterday. When I scanned it in, your library card number came up with your face on it.” Clint laughs. “You should really remember what you do with the books when you’re done with them.”

Tony groans and drops his head onto the desk in defeat.

Steve is doing all he can not to get frustrated right now; he bites his lip and bates his breath because he just spent almost a half hour looking for that book when he had plenty of other shit to do. Not to mention he’ll probably get all the shitty pieces of pizza—

“My bad,” he says, trying to make it sound casual, but it doesn’t sound casual, it sounds like he feels like a goddamn burden.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says, knowing he doesn’t want to make the guy feel guilty any more than he already does at this point. Clearly he isn’t made of self-confidence like he wants everyone to think. He takes the book from Clint and passes it casually to Tony, hoping he can pass it off as not a big deal. “I’m just glad we found your book.”

“Yeah, now you can get back to readin’ ‘bout nuclear physics, even though e’ryone knows that H.G. Wells is where it’s at.” Bucky holds up a badly beaten up copy of _The War of the Worlds_ that he’s read at least two dozen times.

“I think you’re forgetting how good Sedaris is,” remarks Clint with a snort of a laugh.

For a second, Bucky shakes his copy of the worn book before tossing it down and relenting: “Yeah, Sedaris is good.”

Clint grins and points towards at Steve with a cocky grin smattered across his face. “Told you. Everyone loves Sedaris.”

“Fuck off.”

Clint rolls his chair back from the desk, away from Bucky, and towards the computer he’s usually working at. “Y’know, a ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be uncalled for after finding that book for you,” he says while reaching out to turn the monitor back on so he can log on; the background is a picture of Lucky, of course.

“Thank you,” says Tony just at the same time that Steve mutters, “Thank you.”

Bucky chooses this point to pull his feet off the desk and stand up, shoving his book into his back pocket and using his one hand to brush the crumbs off his jacket. “A’ight, well, I’m out then. Got a register to run and pizzas to deliver.”

Steve just wants to get back in his seat and eat whatever pizza is left over that Bucky didn’t snag. So he moves around the back of the desk and skirts around Bucky, who pulls on his Imposturous Pizza hat. And Steve thinks it’s the dumbest name ever for a pizzeria, but Bucky’s already heading for the door and waving and sticking yet _another_ piece of pizza into his mouth like the piggish food whore he is.

“And I should go actually read this now,” laughs Tony sheepishly like he’s trying to find a reason to get out of there; he’s shuffling back a few paces. “Thanks again for helping me find it.” He gestures with the book in hand as a reminder, as if Steve would forget, and then smiles before ducking away like he can get out with half the embarrassment that he went into it with.

“Can’t believe he put it in the drop box,” says Clint casually while clicking absent-mindedly around on Facebook. “That’s a pretty big fuck up.”

With a shrug, Steve screws off the top of his water bottle. “Just glad we could help him out.”

“Yeah, sure,” Clint says as he posts yet another picture of his dog online.

Steve tips back some water before screwing the cap back on. He nudges open the pizza box with one finger to find that they’d left him at least a couple decent pieces that weren’t all crust. And, picking one up, he checks his phone to see a message from Natasha: _Some guy accidentally shot himself in the foot. I fucking hate my job._


	2. The Pretentious Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has the rough equivalent of a Victorian era suitor coming around to woo him, and no one is going to miss the opportunity to tease him about it.

With it raining cats and dogs outside and a couple storm warnings sitting on the horizon, it’s no wonder the library is so slow today. The weather is usually a good indicator as to how busy they’ll be and today proves that point in the best kind of way because it gives Steve the chance to kick back with a couple books while Clint continues his rounds of “Hi, this is Clint from the Bed-Stuy Public Library” while asking people why the fuck they haven’t returned their books yet. Of course, Steve could help, but he’s apparently “less eloquent” than even Clint.

“That guy,” steams Clint with a low breath that betrays his hovering anger. “That guy just tried to fuckin’ tell me that, despite our records, he would, and I quote, ‘never in his life check out _50 Shades of Gray_ ’, which means he’s a goddamn liar ‘cause he still has it ‘cause it’s in the system as late and it’s probably sticky as all hell right now and-“

“Oh look, Bucky’s here,” says Steve with a big fake grin because Clint needs to stop talking before he works himself up even more and says something even worse. “That means it’s lunch time! No more calls for you!”

“You should let me bring Lucky to work, Lucky would love to come to work,” Clint mumbles as he leans back in his chair and lays his arm dramatically across his eyes. “He’d be my therapy dog ‘cause I don’t like dealing with these assholes.”

“Nah, no need to bring ‘im out in this rain unless you gotta,” says Bucky as he drops a large pizza in front of Clint and a personal pan-size one closer to Steve. “ ‘sides, you need more than just a dog. You’d need like five sessions a week with the best therapist money can buy.”

Clint whines low and reaches out blindly for the pizza box that he knows is nearby. “They don’t pay me enough for that.” He’s grinning as he adds, “Bucky, buy me a therapist.”

With a roll of his eyes, Bucky opens up the large pizza box and offers a slice of whatever Rumlow fucked up today to Clint’s desperately pawing hand. “They don’t pay me enough for that,” he reiterates right back.

Steve lets them have their way, knowing those two could go on for hours about their lives’ woes. At some point it’ll probably turn into Bucky bitching about his arm while Clint whimpers about how awful his dad was to him. Both very serious topics, both turned into this sad pathetic festival of two grown men complaining loudly in the middle of a library.

It’s usually better to ignore them.

What’s a better way to ignore them than to help someone check out a book? Shoving part of the small pizza in his mouth (who would put apple slices on a pizza, for the love of God), Steve wipes his hands on his jeans (because he’s a professional at handling books and must have very clean hands) and looks up to see who was on the approach—

—only to see that it was none other than the resident not-quite-a-jackass college kid.

“Hey, Stevie,” says Tony with a grin, dropping some rental DVDs on the desk. He’s got an umbrella hooked on his belt, and he’s wearing a red rain jacket. He’s got some kind of helmet on his head, probably for a scooter of some kind if Steve had to guess.

“Please don’t call me that.” Steve starts to run the DVDs over the bar code scanner with the occasional glance up at Tony; he notices that Clint and Bucky have gone relatively quiet, both nursing their slices of pizza.

“Sorry, sorry.” His apology is quick, and his grin only falters for a second. Somehow, he looks shaken. Steve didn’t think he’d been that gruff? Maybe he had been?

And now Bucky, being the schmuck he is, decides to start up a conversation to make the quiet less unbearably awkward. “Is that _Fight Club_?”

Tony bangs a fist on the desk (Steve jumps slightly at the suddenness of it) and then goes, “Fuck yeah, it’s _Fight Club_.”

Through a mouthful of pizza, Clint comments, “There’s a comic about that, y’know.” He points with his slice towards the kids section and adds, “I think we have some of them over towards the graphic novels.”

“They’re onto the second run, I thought?” questions Bucky, who doesn’t have pizza in his mouth.

Muffled by cheese and crust, Clint asks, “Fuck, are they?”

Steve has to interfere: “Do you have your library card?”

Tony starts to pat his pockets and eventually produces the card while Clint and Bucky continue to chatter like children behind Steve. Steve takes the card and swipes it through the machine. An alert appears on the screen. “Your card apparently expired yesterday.”

“That…” He doesn’t even look annoyed. Not even distressed. His face reads something more along the lines of that this just seems to be his luck, that something bad should happen. “That sucks.”

“I can get you a new one if you’d like?” offers Steve with a raised brow as he hands the old card back to Tony. He’s not even sure why he hands it back, but it just feels right. “Doesn’t cost anything. You’ll just have to fill out a couple papers. Shouldn’t take long.”

Tony opens his mouth, and considering he’s the kind of guy who seems to like to hear himself talk, Steve’s surprised to hear no words come out for a moment. Instead, there’s a mildly frustrated sigh as he says, “Yeah, sure.”

“Honestly,” chimes Bucky from the background again like he needs to somehow be a part of whatever this is, “I think the DVDs are the best part of this godforsaken place.”

“Nah.” Clint finally talks without Steve worrying he might choke. “Internet here is pretty speedy.”

Tony takes the clipboard that Steve hands him with which to fill out his paperwork. “The company isn’t bad either,” mutters Tony as he clicks a pen exactly five times before going to town on the papers in what can only be described as chicken scratch as Steve watches him write.

“Hey, Bucky! We should go see if we have that _Fight Club_ comic in the graphic novels!” Clint is upright instantly, wiping his hands all over his collared purple shirt to rid his palms of the pizza crumbs.

“That sounds like a great idea,” says Bucky with a grin that Steve can’t quite identify. “And we could check on Sam while we’re at it.”

And they’re gone, sidling into the aisle upon aisle of books, heading to what can only be seen as the great mysterious beyond of an unfathomable amount of books. And the graphic novels section is a hot mess, hasn’t been sorted for a while. Steve actually hopes that maybe Clint’ll take a few minutes to organize some of the books…

“I think this is all you’ll need?”

Steve snaps back to looking at Tony, who has a broad ass smile on his face, a grin that Steve has now seen a dozen times to the point where it feels as familiar and welcoming. But still just as awkward as the first time that Tony smiled at him. Actually, the first couple of times—

“Anything else?”

Tony’s voice brings him back again from being lost in what feels like a distant memory but was only a few weeks ago. “No, no,” affirms Steve after glancing over the form Tony’s just handed him. “Looks good.” All the lines on the form are filled out in a sort of scrawl that chicken scratch doesn’t even properly define. “I can have you a new card within the hour.”

“Does that mean I just have to hang out around here or…?”

“If you want.” Steve shrugs as he puts Tony’s information into the system, still standing while typing dutifully away. His brain is in autopilot with putting in the information. “Or I could get it to you next time you’re in if you don’t have time.”

There’s a pause. “I’ll be in town ‘cause I gotta run for a group meeting, but if it’s done fast enough, can you call me? I’ll just jump over here from the coffee place the next block over and grab it.”

Steve glances at the sheet with Tony’s information. His number is there. “Yeah, I can give you a call. Shouldn’t take that long.”

Tony grins and pulls his umbrella off his belt. “Awesome.” He backs away from the desk and starts to head for the door. “Thanks, Stevie!”

“Don’t call me that,” Steve says just loud enough that he knows Tony will hear. But he goes back to typing in Tony’s information for the validation process. When he finally gets a good look at the guy’s phone number, he sees a heart scribbled after it.

He conveniently forgets to call Tony.

* * *

“He hath returned from the den of the small lions!” cries Clint boisterously as Sam decides to emerge from the kiddie corner he’s constantly caged in. The library’s children’s section is constantly full of kids, even on days where the weather is nice when compared with yesterday’s disgusting rainstorms.

“Don’t say that too loudly,” says Sam gruffly. “They’ll start arguing over who gets to be Simba.”

“I see, uh, you caught a case of the Craft Herpes?” Clint loosely gestures to Sam, whose sparkling body resembles that of a gay stripper caught in the middle of a glitter shower. Except more clothed. (Not that Steve would know anything about that sort of thing.)

“Shut the frick frack snick snack up, Clint.” Sam picks up his water bottle that was left out at this desk rather than his own desk within the aforementioned kiddie corner. It’s sad when water is his sole escape route.

Clint snickers. “Such harsh words.”

With a roll of his eyes and a distasteful gesture (that’s carefully guarded so that the children can’t see) (probably?), Sam decides to take a long swig of water and utterly ignore the shit out of Clint. Ignoring Clint is not an uncommon practice at the library.

Steve, meanwhile, is quietly enjoying an anthology of suspenseful short stories, which he’s had tucked behind the desk for like a week or two now. He’s picked it up whenever this kind of lull occurs, the kind where no one is at the desk, Clint’s got someone else to harass, and there’s nothing to do that’s absolutely necessary.

“Have they called you a Sparkle Fairy yet?” asks Clint with a devilish grin, really waiting for Sam to rip into him.

But, being the bigger man, Sam decides that Clint is irrelevant and instead turns his attention to Steve. “So I heard you got a guy comin’ around for you?”

With a sigh, Steve has to put his book down but keeps his thumb wedged between the pages to keep his place marked. “He’s not coming around for me, he’s coming around for books. He’s doing research or something, probably.”

“Research in what?” asks Sam as he futilely tries to brush the glitter from his shirt even though everyone knows it’ll never come off and he’s going to have to burn that shirt by the end of the day so he doesn’t bring the glitter home to Riley.

Steve answers absentmindedly: “Nuclear physics.”

Clint clears his throat before asking, “Steve, what book was I reading yesterday?”

There’s a delay. Because Steve has no fucking idea.

“Case and point!” Clint kicks his feet up on the desk before pulling the library copy of _Devil in the White City_. “Because _you_ recommended this to me.” Clint flips open to the page that he has dog-eared, a page that’s probably been dog-eared a dozen times before. “You can’t remember what you watched me read for the better half of yesterday but you can remember what you tried to help that guy find a couple of weeks ago.”

Sam coughs and tries to hide his grin.

“Fuck you,” says Steve quickly and quietly before ducking back into his own book to ignore those two pieces of shit.

Clint’s laugh is too loud, too much, but he knows he’s fucking right.

“He came around yesterday looking for you when he picked up his new library card. I told him Wednesdays are actually your one day off.” Sam takes another swig of water. “He looked disappointed. Even after Thor helped him out, and that’s sayin’ something.”

Steve still doesn’t look up.

“He never gets this moody when it’s the girls swooning over him,” murmurs Clint, knowing very well that Steve can hear him because Clint’s version of a murmur is him talking at a regular human volume. (His regular human volume is just below a shout. No one is sure how he got a job in a _library_.)

Sam laughs. Still, he doesn’t comment much further than that. He taps his water bottle on the desk twice and says, “Back into the lions’ den.” Steve hears his footsteps depart for the children’s section again.

“I hope the kids don’t murder him,” laughs Clint before he picks up his book once more.

Steve sighs and responds slowly, “I’ll check on him in an hour.”

* * *

For once, Natasha is sitting next to Steve in the spot where Clint usually is. She’s quietly just rolling bullets between her fingers. Apparently, it was a stressful morning shift at the shooting range because Bucky came by and decided to have fun with it since Natasha gave him a free year-long pass, which meant he occasionally decided to just shoot things. All morning. Recklessly.

All in all, she’s currently about ready to punch Barnes next time she sees him.

Which is convenient because he’s been gone for about twenty minutes with Clint while they went to go see whether David Sedaris was in Non-Fiction or Humor because Steve couldn’t remember where it was, just that they had like three of his books.

“I’m pretty sure Barnes knows I’m gunning for him,” says Tasha as she pops her bubblegum. “I’m gonna throttle him.”

“You could just shoot him?”

If Steve wasn’t already used to her laser-eyed glare, the kind of glare that could cut glass, he would’ve flinched and then probably melted into his seat and stained the fabric. Instead, he just looks away as she fiercely says, “Goddammit, Steve, do you _want_ me to lose my license?”

Steve mumbles something about the fact that she already has at least twenty firearms in the apartment. It’s amazing Clint hasn’t accidentally shot himself with something. He’s astonishingly clumsy before his morning cup of coffee.

Still, she continues on to say, “Besides, the man is already missing his damn _arm_.”

He stands up because he feels like he’s got to get out of there before she ends up shooting him. And she doesn’t even have a gun on hand because no guns are allowed in the library, so.

“I’m not gonna be a bitch and take out his damn kidney or something with a bullet.”

“Keep an eye on the desk, please and thank you!” says Steve before he heads off, hoping he doesn’t come back to a dead body, which would be an entirely different situation compared to finding a body in the stacks because the stacks don’t have cameras. The front desk does and would totally show Natasha straight up murdering someone considering the mood she’s in.

Of course, maybe he’s just being dramatic.

Still, he meanders down the aisles, hoping that Clint and Bucky didn’t get lost back here somewhere. Despite the fact that Clint actually works in the library, he often gets lost and turned around; even more often than that, he ends up asleep with a book on his face in a chair somewhere. He doesn’t read as much as Steve does, and there’s a certain point at which Steve thinks there’s something wrong with a man in a library who doesn’t read enough, but that’s only because he’s lived with his nose in a book ever since his mom taught him how to read.

His mom. It’s been a while since he’s thought about her. She taught him how to read, made sure he knew the value of a good book: since he couldn’t afford a vacation full of adventure, he could stick his nose between some pages and find an adventure there. Living vicariously through fictional characters had turned into his lifestyle.

Luckily, it turned into him walking into a library a few too many times during regular working hours, and when he was checking out at the front desk, someone just so happened to mention that the library was hiring.

And now he’s here, walking through the stacks, trying to find his goddamn coworker who has apparently run off into the stacks with his best friend. He’s also got a cute guy coming around to see him. And everything is great right now.

Up until he cannot get the mental image out of his head of Clint having Bucky pinned up against a wall back in the Humor section. With Bucky’s legs around Clint’s waist and everything.

“Oh my God,” says Steve, which is apparently _just_ loud enough for Clint to quickly remove his tongue from the depths of Bucky’s throat and whip his head around.

Immediately, Clint goes all owl-eyed and just mouths, “ _Shit_.”

Bucky takes only a second longer to come around because he’s distracted with catching his breath and keeping his balance because his feet aren’t on the ground and he’s only got the one arm, but eventually he looks to Steve. Bucky doesn’t look half as panicked as Clint does right now. There’s drool at the corner of his mouth, and he’s grinning wildly, head back against the shelves.

No, there’s no way Steve can wipe what he’s just seen from his brain.

“Hey, Stevie. ‘bout time you found out.”

“This wasn’t the best _way_ to find out,” reminds Clint a little sharply as he makes sure that Bucky’s stable as he climbs off of Clint. He’s still got his arm around Bucky’s waist as he addresses Steve with, “We were gonna tell you, we just didn’t know how yet.”

“I- I mean I’m happy for you guys,” Steve stammers out, running a hand through his hair while the other is shoved deep into his pocket. “Just why- why would you be doing it in the Humor sex- I mean, section?”

Bucky laughs, hard and loud. He leans on Clint more. “We were lookin’ for Sedaris.”

Clint is less than amused, looking almost disappointed in himself. “It seemed important at the moment. This doesn’t…. It’s not a normal thing. Normally we’re in the car or something. It’s not normally a work thing.”

Steve’s wondering how Clint fit the word normal into all of that so many times.

“I should get, uh, back to the desk.” Clint removes his arm from around Bucky’s waist, but Steve doesn’t fail to notice how his hand lingers for a second too long in the small of Bucky’s back. “Sorry for abandoning you up there, Steve.”

Pushing his glasses up his nose a little further, Steve goes, “Oh no, I wasn’t left alone at the desk for long. Natasha’s there.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide at that. “Shit.” Two seconds later it’s followed by, “Fuck shit.”

Luckily, Clint’s still there and it’s endearing for Steve to see him kiss Bucky’s cheek before saying, “Told you so.” And then he’s gone, jogging through the stacks so that an actual library employee is at the front desk to help people out with actual library stuff. And make more calls. He’s always got calls to make.

Staring after Clint, Bucky asks a little warily, “So how dead am I?”

“I mean, I don’t care that you and Clint are-“

“No, Stevie, I meant with Tasha. She’s gonna have my head on a goddamn pike as soon as I try to make a break for the damn doors.” He pinches at his temple with his hand. “I just wanted to blow off some steam, I didn’t think she’d be so mad?”

“Bucky, you apparently almost shot yourself, of course she’s going to be upset.”

“The key word there is _almost_ ,” Barnes reminds adamantly while staring at the spot where Clint disappeared. He seems hesitant to try to leave the Humor section right now, like his legs are glued to the floor but the glue isn’t quite dry.

“Hell, Buck, I’m upset with you.”

Now those brown eyes turn on Steve. “Aw, Stevie, no. Don’t be like that. No, don’t gimme the disappointed look. I fucked up, I get it, but c’mon, don’t be that way.” He’s practically pleading now. “I’ll behave at the range, no more shootin’ for show, I promise.”

Steve’s still not satisfied. He knows Bucky’ll go out and do it again in a month or two because he can’t help but be a little cocky. Guy loses an arm and suddenly thinks he’s invincible. Delivers pizzas and will knock down the door of anyone who doesn’t pay. He’s almost gotten arrested a few times. But maybe at least being disappointed in him a little bit will make him think twice. And Steve only has to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself for a couple months because his annual pass is about to expire soon, and Steve’s sure that Natasha won’t make that mistake again.

“Just don’t do it again,” pleads Steve as he clasps his hand on Bucky’s shoulder—the one that isn’t attached to an arm. “I know you think you’re top shit, but you don’t need to show off anymore. This isn’t the army. It’s New York.”

There’s a sigh as Bucky agrees reluctantly. “I know, I know.” He scratches at his stubble before looking back at where Clint disappeared. “Think he’ll defend me ‘gainst Nat?”

“I think he’s probably already negotiated with her not to bring it up.” Steve knows his roommates well enough to know that Clint and Natasha are wrapped around each other’s finger. And if Clint cares about Bucky as much as he seems to, he’ll keep Natasha off Barnes’ back, even if only because he also fears her wrath and doesn’t want that unleashed on anyone else. “If not, you’re on your own.”

“Fuck you, Rogers.”

* * *

Smile. “Hi, is there something I can help you with today?”

That’s the start of every interaction. Or almost every interaction. And with Steve manning the desk alone because apparently one of the toilets in the men’s room is clogged, he’s had to get up and help every single person who has come through the doors today. And he even has to do the welcome mantra, but for some reason, he always does it in the same intonation that Clint does when he greets people on the phone.

“Welcome to the Bed-Stuy Public Library!” That falls out of his mouth every time someone walks through the sliding doors. When the doors slide open and someone leaves, he has to say, “Thanks for coming!”

It’s exhausting. Clint has been gone most of the day trying to fix the toilet. Steve told him to take a walkie talkie just in case he needed emergency back up, and so Clint took the radio, that wasn’t the problem, but what was the problem was when Clint dropped it in the toilet.

All in all, it’s going to be a long day.

The line is three people deep, and Steve is running on auto-pilot. Scan the card, scan the books. Tell them the due date. Offer them a bag. If they want it, ask them politely to bring it back. If they don’t, thank them for stopping by the library. Tell them to have a good day.

He’s been told to fuck off twice, which has been wonderful.

As soon as he gets to the last person in line, he looks up and there’s Tony. “Hi.”

Steve doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he has to move his mouth from that smile to form the word “Hi” in response.

“Books to return,” Tony says, dumping a whole bag of them on the desk. A quick glance at the titles reminds Steve that this guy has STEM written all over him. “You never called about my card being done.” And he sounds a little wounded. “Came back the next day and you weren’t working. That’s when I checked all these out.” The last part sounds like it’s justifying everything somehow as he’s gesturing to the array of books. Added on sheepishly to the end is Tony saying, “Missed your face though.”

Steve is _not_ blushing.

Where’s Clint when you need the guy to open his big fat mouth?

“Good to see you back,” is all Steve can manage. He wants to mention the drop box they have outside and the other one that’s just two feet away where books can be returned, but he can’t bring himself to do it because he really is happy that Tony came back around.

Until about two seconds later as he flips a book open to get to the front page for the bar code scanner and notices—

“Is… is this pen?” he asks with a horrified look at Tony.

“I just had to mark up a couple notes. I only wrote in it like twice.” He apologizes quickly. “I’m sorry, I just forgot that it wasn’t one of my personal books, you know?”

Steve’s gaping at the book. And at Tony. Who does look apologetic as hell. Almost afraid, even.

“I’ll buy the library a new copy if I have to,” assures Tony although his face is contorted into a wince. “Or just give you the money to buy you a new one, I’m not sure how this works.” He’s nervous on top of everything else.

Steve has to try to talk through gritted teeth. “It’s fine.” He tries his hardest to relax. He tries so hard. But eventually he just looks up at Tony and goes, “Can’t you just use pencil?”

“It’s not the same,” says Tony with a look that’s desperate for Steve to understand what he means by those four words. “Pencil doesn’t feel the same way on paper. It’s not as smooth and it could tear holes easier and—”

“I get it.” Steve does. He knows. He only writes in pen. But he never writes in _books_.

“I shouldn’t have even had a writing utensil near it,” says Tony like he’s apologizing again. “I’m just getting used to not being able to go out and buy a book anymore and whatnot. My dad just cut me off and readjusting has been weird and hard, not to mention _awkward_. Like every time I go to check out at places, my card’s declined. This is the first place that I don’t have to worry about that because it’s a _library card_ and that’s… I dunno, this place is just really reassuring.”

Okay, maybe Steve judged this guy a little too quickly.

“It’s fine,” promises Steve, now really meaning it. He goes back to checking the books in, but now he looks up to Tony every few seconds because the man looks _crushed_ in a way that Steve hasn’t seen him look before. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not even bad enough, I doubt anyone else will care if they check it out. Maybe your notes’ll even help someone.”

Tony laughs and it sounds a little choked. “I don’t know why they would. I doubt anyone even reads the quantum mechanics books here. The shelves looked like they hadn’t been touched in months before I started coming around.”

That last bit sticks in Steve’s head. When Tony started coming around. Because it was weird, he just popped up out of nowhere one day, had never stepped through the doors before. Steve doesn’t remember the first day Tony was ever here, he just remembers the time he fell asleep, and maybe it makes more sense now. Sleeping here.

Steve’s heart clenches. “Let me know if I’m overstepping my bounds here,” he starts slowly, “but is that why you were asleep here that one night? Because you, uh, were…?”

“No, no, not exactly.” Tony half-laughs. “I have somewhere to live, don’t worry about that. I’m shacking up with a friend for now until I can get myself back on my feet, but he had a girl over, so I figured it’d be good to stay here as long as I could.” He sounds okay now, not as distressed as he was a second ago. “It’s just… The walls are thin in shitty apartments.”

Steve knows. Steve knows all too well. (For a second, he wonders if the sounds from Clint’s room have ever been Bucky, but that’s a mental image he doesn’t want, no sir, no thanks.)

He finished off checking in the books and slides them onto the cart behind him, the cart of books that he’s going to put away after Clint eventually returns from Toilet Hell. Then he leans on the counter. “The pizza place next door stays open about three hours later than we do most days, so if you ever want to grab a book here and sit there, they’ll let you. And if they fuck up a pizza, you can usually get it pretty cheap. Ask for a guy named Bucky and you might even be able to get it free. Dunno if that helps you out, but I’ve been where you are and I know it’s hard.”

Somehow, it looks like Tony already knew that. “Thanks for the tip.” He winks.

Steve is definitely _not_ blushing because of that stupid innuendo.

“If you have anymore tips, you still have my number, right?” asks Tony with a slight tilt of his head in a way that looks like a curious puppy. Also a tragic puppy.

He chews on his lip for a second. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you know if I can think of anything else.”

Tony seems pleased. “Really, thank you,” he says. And it’s like he wants to lean forward. He does for a nanosecond before moving back and towards the door. He almost stumbles over the next person in line, and Steve hadn’t even realized a line had formed; it’s already three people deep. “Hopefully I’ll hear from you soon!” he half-hollers as he’s halfway to the door.

Steve just nods and smiles in his direction before addressing the next person in line.

Smile. “Hi, is there something I can help you with today?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but here's an update! I'm happy to say that I think this will only be three chapters, I was debating turning it into four, but I don't know exactly how I'm going to end it as is, so the next chapter will probably be the final installment and I hope y'all liked this chapter! Next one will (hopefully) be up in a few weeks!

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Belated Valentine's Day, Foggy! Sorry this is so late!


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